


killing floor

by ghostwit



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon Compliant, Explicit Sexual Content, I guess. Unspecified timeline but everything's the same., M/M, Masochism, Not actually that porny because I do a cut-away but like. enough., Shitty banter because these two have problems!, Sighhhss. We're back on it.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:01:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostwit/pseuds/ghostwit
Summary: Marco is as such when Shanks runs Gryphon lovingly down the trembling knobs of his spine, white and catching low candlelight with the sheen of sweat;
Relationships: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks/Fushichou Marco | Phoenix Marco
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	killing floor

Marco is as such when Shanks runs Gryphon lovingly down the trembling knobs of his spine, white and catching low candlelight with the sheen of sweat: elbows buried deep in sanguine sheets and abdomen engaged solid enough to send the shock of strain all the way up through his throat and out his nose in the shuddery breathing, eyes squeezed shut and mouth clamped to match. The point of the blade follows the ridges and valleys, the nauseatingly even sinusoidal pattern to where it sinks into soft, lean flesh at his lower back, just enough to tear a seam into his low-slung pants. 

Shanks leans down fast, a little bit too desperate for his tastes (knowing Marco's too far gone to care is enough to override his already fickle palate), chasing the narrow line of coquelicot following the iron edge with his tongue before it can curl up into brilliant turquoise and gold. He pulls back up, dragging his tongue flat and firm over the cut of his shoulder blade, traveling inch upon inch of quivering skin and jumping muscle until he's reached the space under Marco's ear, where the skin is superbly soft and tender and fit for Shanks' teeth. 

"Turn it off for me, baby," he coos, tonguing at Marco's jangling earlobe, laden with slow-heating gold. _It_ , he laughs, thinking of the phoenix roaring vivid and bold in Marco's chest, soaring to the surface when the man caged around it falters in flesh and blood. His lone hand, still cradling an upturned Gryphon, finds itself on Marco's shoulder, adding just enough weight to make his abdomen tremble _just_ that much more, thighs and calves spasming in rigid place.

"Go fuck yourself," Marco's still wound so tight, hardly enough space between the interlocking gears of his teeth to allow the words to hiss through. Shanks, knowing exactly when and where to employ his abundant tact, finds the gaps and gives a liberal _yank_ in the form of extending his arm and flipping his sword to press another line of stark red in warm tan. He's elated to see, out of the corner of his eye, the crimson sink around the blade where it creates a shallow divot in the skin. 

"Mmm, good boy," he mutters, edged with condescension, rewarding Marco with the touch of teeth clamped around the post of the earring, metal firm beneath yielding flesh. Marco manages something between a curse and a half-moan, shifting a little on his elbows with the breathy noise. He sheaths Gryphon with a smile, letting her sink to the floor as he shucks off his pants to let them bunch around his thighs.

“Ah, ah, just like that,” He curls his fingers around Marco’s side, thumb stroking over the hipbone before using the brunt of his palm to slide the fabric of his pants down. Marco goes right on trembling under his touch, nearly faltering to rest on his knees and Shanks makes a happy little noise right up in his throat that he presses into Marco’s skin. 

It’s enough of a distraction for quickly slicked fingers to slide down, past the first ring of muscle and give a rough crook, make Marco yelp out a coarse-edged “fuck”. 

“Ahh, man, that’s great,” Shanks smiles wide at the juncture of the division commander’s neck and shoulder, pressing the articulated rows of bone into the tender flesh. “Keep that up and I’ll get the sword out again, just for you,” he giggles, snaking his tongue between his teeth to taste sweat, rushing into his mouth with the force of the sea. Marco’s fists close impossibly tighter.

“Idiot,” breathless. Marco’s core trembles under their combined weight, under the tamping of his phoenix so the shallow cut right above the first notch of his spine can continue leaking out blood over already saturated skin, skimming across in vivid splays and spirals. 

* * *

“Ah, goddamnit,” Marco groans, flopping onto his stomach and running ringed fingers over his backside where the skin is split and flayed to glossy, cardinal red. 

“You’re never topping again-yoi,” muttered with derision, made worse by the smirk playing over Shanks’ lips and the quiet click of a single seastone cuff around his ankle. 

He tosses him the glinting key with a grin that asks a question, and Marco snatches it mid-air, pulling it close to his chest to tuck under himself. The hot streak of pain searing up his back and the strain in his abdomen at the scant motion catches him off-guard, but he suppresses the yelp into a closed-mouth _mrrf_ and a shudder. 

“I’ll kiss it better,” Shanks laughs, bold-faced and bleary-eyed as he settles on the mattress beside Marco, “c’mere.” He pouts, noisily kissing air with his juvenile pucker. When he brings an arm up to wrap lazily around the blonde, he’s granted a good, firm kick to the thigh that leaves Marco quivering in place and the captain snickering. 

“You’re lucky I can’t get infected,” the pillow he’s tucked under himself absorbs the noise greedily, as the red sheets had his blood, but Shanks can still hear him, as always, and laughs again. “Fucking awful at this-yoi,” he says through lowering lids until, finally, they slide contentedly shut. He’s turned away from his bedmate, but the shock of straw-colored hair is enough for Shanks. 

The hand he brings up over Marco’s side, skimming careful over the edge of each shallow wound criss-crossing his back, manages to stay cradling the jut of a rib as their breaths synchronize in an easy slumber. 

**Author's Note:**

> THE ONLY PIECE I'VE WRITTEN THAT I'VE BEEN HAPPY WITH FOR LIKE. THE PAST MONTH T_T AND IT'S HORNYYYY. I'M CURSED. On the shorter end too, but it's fine. It's fine. Awooga. Sits here and waits until midnight to upload this so there's a two day space since my last. Hehe. 
> 
> Please leave a comment or anything if you've enjoyed! My stats are tanking hardcore because of new AO3 policy, heh, and they really make me happier than you'd know. 
> 
> hazeism.tumblr.com


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